Reckless
by AnabelleG
Summary: Booth survives a violent confrontation with a suspect, leading to unexpected consequences for his relationship with Brennan. Rated M.


**A/N: Well, I said it would never happen again, one smutty fic was all I would ever write…but you know how it is with the muses….say never and they take it as a challenge! So here it…..hope you enjoy! –Ana**

**And many thanks to Wills for her encouragement and help with the 'dangling participle' problem.**

Time stood still.

Illogical. Irrational. _Impossible_.

That's what she would have said right up until the second the gun fired.

Until the two men grappling on the floor stopped moving.

Until she was forced to wait to see which of them would stand and which would not.

That was when she finally learned that even something as impenetrable as physical law can be ransomed by fear.

Because for a moment, that moment, time stood still.

**xxxxxx**

He didn't hear the gunshot. He felt it. A fist of pain driving straight through his ribs. The sticky heat of blood seeping through his shirt. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and knew then that he had lost.

For one heartbeat, then two, he knew he was dying. He startled to flail against the deadening weight, his lungs greedily sucking at the air, instinct driving for proof of life.

Forcing his eyes open, he expected to see passing scenes of his life. A tunnel of bright light. Spirits of dead relatives to guide him to the other side, or the people he'd killed ready to usher him straight to hell.

Instead, he found the dull eyes of the other man staring unseeing into his.

Instantly, he realized that the paralysis was the weight of the dead man pinning him down. The pain was from the recoil of the gun and not a bullet. The blood was not his own. By the fifth heartbeat, he knew he had won.

He pushed at the body resting across his own, needing to escape, to be as far way from death as possible now that it had spared him.

Freed, he slowly stood, gingerly testing his ability to remain upright on legs still quivering after the rush of adrenaline.

Then the caution and fear and pain was overwhelmed by something electric. His fingertips tingled with it, his face flushed with heat and his throat tightened around the overwhelming need to shout. To sing, to laugh, to scream it out loud.

He was alive. Alive, he thought, as he ran his hands over his torso, not noticing the blood that made his shirt cling to his skin, only that beneath it he was whole.

Tangled in all of the emotion, in the pure joy, was the immediate need to tell her, to share with her what had happened, what he was feeling. He called her name, searching the room, knowing that she would have never left.

But every ounce of euphoria disappeared when his eyes found hers, saw the grace in them broken by fear. Seeing that was worse than almost dying, he thought. Worse than anything he could imagine.

Until he watched her close down, shuttering away the devastation behind a flat, guarded stare.

**xxxxxxx**

She wanted him to go away.

Through it all—the paramedics, the coroner, the endless questioning at the scene, the silent drive to her apartment—she had felt him gauging her, searching out the reason for the wall that she had drawn between them.

Nerves stretched taut, she willed him to give in, to leave her alone before he figured it out, before he saw what she was trying to so hard to hide.

But he didn't. Wouldn't.

He was still there, standing behind her, waiting and watching as she slid the key into the lock. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes against the sting of angry, frustrated tears as she pushed open the door.

Please, she begged. Please don't let him see.

**xxxxxxx**

He knew the smart thing would be to leave.

Let her get some distance from what had happened. Give her some space before asking her to talk about it.

But the thoughts running through his head overrode good sense. There was the compelling need to describe, to share, the breathtaking thrill of survival still running through him. The ache of guilt caused by knowing that he had played a role in the pain that he'd seen on her face.

And there was the disappointment, the nascent anger rising in response to her stubborn silence and the apparent ease with which she had disconnected herself from him. Now, when he needed her.

The day had made him reckless, so he followed her into her apartment, blind to everything but the currents pulling him forward, drawing him closer to a confrontation that he wasn't sure that he wanted.

**xxxxxxx**

Everything was okay. Bad guy was dead. He was alright. What was the big deal? Why couldn't she just be happy, see that it had been a good day?

Standing there in the middle of her living room, hands on his hips and face inches from hers, he'd actually said those words. Out loud. To her.

She stared at him, open-mouthed with disbelief.

_Why couldn't she just be happy…_

Pure anger, the rage that she had been trying to detach since it had latched onto her there in that room, stole every response, every word that she had.

Instead, she hit him. Curled her hand and drove it into his shoulder. Punishment for not understanding.

And when he accepted it, didn't move, didn't speak, she did it again. Judgment for the arrogance that made him risk everything to take on an armed, violent suspect the way he had.

She kept striking at him, began to flail against him, not caring where the blows landed, not caring that the tears she'd been fighting were now streaming down her face.

She wanted to hate him, to hurt him. For almost dying. For making her witness to what his death could be. Because she'd been forced to glimpse her life without him.

Because he had made time stand still, and when it did, there was no way to move beyond the fear.

**xxxxxx**

Backing her into a corner, he captured her wrists in his hands, pressing them against the wall behind her, bracketed her body with his own, until she stopped struggling against him. Not wanting to hurt her but to protect her.

She grew still, but remained rigid, her face flushed with defiance, eyes glittering with tears as she refused to look away, to back down from him. He could sense the bruises forming, the blood pulsing beneath the places that she'd hit. Heard their breathing, heavy and fast with the effort of their battle of wills, then felt it in the racing rise and fall of her chest against the movement of his own.

He should have been pissed. But suddenly something else was overriding the anger. He had never seen her like this, every emotion so raw, nothing hidden, all of her inhibitions completely unbound.

He was instantly hard, heat and blood pooling together, drawing him closer until there was no space between them. Her eyes widened with shock as he slid his thigh between hers in a silent dare before lowering his head, claiming her mouth with his own.

There was nothing playful or gentle in the kiss. It was unadulterated possession, invasion as his tongue entered her mouth, every move as much a demand as the blows she had landed.

Then, as quickly as he started, he stopped, drawing his teeth lightly along her lower lip, and releasing her wrists before he leaned away.

She had initiated the challenge, he had answered.

Whatever happened next, it was completely up to her.

**xxxxxx**

She held her fingertips to her swollen lips, assessing the heat in his eyes, recognizing it for what it was and accepting it without hesitation.

Raising her chin slightly, she squared her shoulders and began unfastening her blouse, methodically moving from one button to the next until it slid from her shoulders. She watched as the muscles in his jaw draw constricted, saw the tremor in his hand as he reached forward to slide a finger beneath the narrow silk strap of her bra. Her breath hitched at the contact with her skin, but she caught herself, and batted his hand away.

Eyes narrowed, she flicked her thumb over a small clasp, freeing her breasts from the constricting lace, her nipples drawing tight as she felt his gaze on her. Determined to maintain dominance, she straightened her arm, placing her hand on his chest, pausing to savor the pounding beat of his heart beneath her palm before slowly sliding it down.

She stopped as she met the sharp edge of his belt buckle, then traced her fingers over the letters on its face. Her mouth curved with the irony, before her hand descended further.

He grunted but didn't say a word as she pressed her hand against the heavy denim, didn't take his eyes from hers as she toyed with the rivets of his zipper. But as she boldly started to massage the length of his erection, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't move, holding her hand in place against him. But as he grew impossibly harder beneath her touch, she felt a sharp ache knotting deep inside, felt the wet heat flowing from her, soaking her panties, and almost gave in.

Almost.

**xxxxxx**

He closed his eyes, trying not to surrender any ground as she leaned into him, her taut nipples brushing against the fabric of his shirt as she placed her mouth in the hollow of his throat, a soft heat sucking, nipping at his skin as she traced her way to the edge of his jaw.

Placing his hands against the wall, locking his elbows against the assault, he knew that all it would take was one wrong move.

But he couldn't stop himself.

He turned his head, his lips falling on hers as he pressed her against the wall, turning the fierce tension into something white hot. He brought his hand to her breast, rough against soft curves, before replacing it with his mouth, teasing her with his tongue as her breath quickened and a small moan escaped her lips.

Spurred on by her response, he grew bolder, sliding his hand beneath her skirt, the dark cotton bunching around his wrist as he cupped her against his palm, the unseen texture of curls beneath her panties nearly undoing him.

He traced the contrast of silk and bare skin, before slipping his hand underneath. He reveled in the jerk of her hips as he began to caress the tender folds, sliding a finger into her, the hot velvet walls clasping hungrily around him as he brushed the edge of his thumb against her clit, the liquid heat against his skin the concession that he had wanted from her.

The victory he thought he'd needed, until she leaned forward, lips grazing against the curve of his ear before she huskily whispered two words.

_Fuck me._

And he knew then that the time for playing games was over. He had already lost.

**xxxxxx**

Too close, too soon, she thought, impatient as he roughly pulled the delicate lace down her legs, her feet tangling in the material as they both fumbled with his belt, the loud rasp of his zipper a maddening relief.

Then his arms were around her, lifting her up, his lips claiming hers as he urged her legs around his waist. She felt him probing, thick and hard at her opening, and quivered with anticipation. Dragging her mouth from his, she forced herself to meet his eyes and they both stilled. For a single moment, they were simply Booth and Brennan again, both aware that everything was about to change.

Until she shifted, pushing forward inch by inch until he was buried inside of her. She felt him struggling for control, his fingers painfully gripping the curve of her waist as his body shook, and she almost smiled. He was hers. And now they both knew it.

But the blossom of satisfaction disappeared into the intense friction as he moved, slowly withdrawing and sinking into her. It almost shattered her and still it wasn't enough.

She bucked against him, her hips moving deliberately into the rhythm of his thrusts, daring him, urging him to fuck her harder, faster. Still needing him to prove to her what words could not.

**xxxxxxx**

Soon the choice wouldn't be his, the need to come pushing him beyond reason, but first, first he had to see it on her face, to know that he had finally penetrated whatever barriers remained between them.

He knew she was almost there, and it pushed him closer to the edge, as he buried himself in her again and again. He fought for every second, to wait for her, as her slick delicate muscles tightened around his cock, threatening whatever sanity he had left.

Muscles trembling, the nearly painful ache for release tightening his balls, he knew that he couldn't hold on much longer. He slid one hand from her waist, reaching between them, lightly brushing her soft curls before sliding his thumb over her clit and stroking it once, twice.

She arched away from him, tensing before releasing an almost silent scream as she came, each thrust coaxing another wave of spasms from her body, until she fell against him, fingers pressing and sliding against his skin, searching for purchase as the tremors shuddered through her.

With a low groan, he sank into her one final time, the current of heat surrounding his cock shooting through him, contracting his muscles, twining along every nerve ending until it exploded behind his eyes, darkening his world to everything except the sensation of the pulsing release deep inside of her and the feel of her lips against his neck as she whispered his name again and again.

**xxxxxx**

The pounding of her heart was deafening as she gasped for air, her chest heaving against the weight of him resting heavily on her. She felt him withdraw from her body and waited for him to say something, anything.

But instead there was only silence. She slid her legs from his waist, allowing them to fall tonelessly along his thighs, wincing slightly at the sweet ache in her hips. She closed her eyes as her bare feet found the floor, ignoring the feel of her fallen shoe beneath her heel, the pooling fabric of his pants brushing against her toes.

She couldn't believe it, but it was there, the evidence all over her. The raw tingle of her breasts where his stubble had scraped against her skin. The musky scent clinging to her, the sticky heat on the inside of her thighs.

What exactly had she proven?

She had fucked him.

And for the second time in a single day, time had stood still.


End file.
